OMNIUM SANCTORUM HIBERNIAE

Category: Irish Saints

  • Saint Saran, August 15

    August 15 is the commemoration of a Saint Saran in the Irish calendars. As Canon O’Hanlon explains below, he is one of a dozen saints who share this name and thus almost impossible to identify:

    St. Saran.

    Veneration was given at the 15th of August to Saran, as we find recorded in the Martyrology of Tallagh, as also in that of Donegal. We find no less than twelve saints bearing the name of Saran in the Irish Calendars, and of these only six are distinguished by any epithet, applied to them, viz. : at January 8th, Saran of Cuil-creamha; at the 13th, Saran, bishop; at the 20th, Saran; at March 1st, Saran, bishop; at May 15th, Saran of Inis-mor; at July 30th, Saran; at August 1st, Saran of Bennchor; at the 15th, Saran; at September 16th, Saran; at 21st, Saran, son of Tighernan; at 23rd, Saran; and at October 22nd, Saran. A saint of this name was venerated, as patron of Tisam parish, in the barony of Garrycastle, King’s County; and, as we suppose, this is likely to have been the individual. The name of this parish may be rendered into English, “The House of Saran.” At present, and west of the River Brosna, Ti-Saran old church lies in the centre of Moystown demesne, and it is in ruins; while Tobar Saran,  Fons S. Sarani, lies 500 links south-west of the stables belonging to Moystown house. At this well, stations were performed some time back;  but, St. Saran’s festival day is not any longer remembered, in that locality.
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  • Saint Attracta's Stags

     

    Below is a poem telling the story of the miracle of the hard-hearted King Keannfaelid and Saint Attracta, whose feast is celebrated on August 11:

    THE BALLAD OF SAINT ATHRACTA’S STAGS

    ATHRACTA was a maiden fair,
    A Prince’s daughter she;
    Down to her feet fell golden hair,
    A wondrous sight to see.

    And all amid this golden shower,
    The sweetest rosebud face
    Blossomed like a dew-fed flower
    Upon a stem of grace.

    Yet loved she not the court of kings,
    But in the wild would be,
    With but one maid her hair to braid
    And bear her company.

    So, near Lough Gara’s silver sheen,
    They built of turf and bark
    A hut wherein from springtide green
    They dwelt through winter’s dark.

    On seven cross-roads the hut was made,
    That they might offer rest
    To pilgrims by the night waylaid,
    And strangers hunger-pressed.

    To draw them water from the lake,
    To till their little soil,
    Two ancient horses did they take,
    Outworn for other toil.

    Once gallant chargers these had been,
    Keen-eyed and prancing gay,
    Who tourneys brave and wars had seen,
    All decked in bright array.

    But now their age in peace was spent
    By kind Athracta’s side ;
    No gallant wars, no tournament,
    And yet they served with pride.

    Their neighbors in the forest glades
    Were stately, antlered deer,
    Nor of the two most holy maids
    Had these, their brothers, fear.

    So dwelt the maidens there alone
    For many months and years,
    The doings of the world unknown,
    Its wars, its woes, its tears.

    But strife was stirring in the land,
    And kings must castles build,
    To guard them from the foeman’s hand
    With fire and weapon filled.

    And so the King’s most stern decree
    Went forth upon a day,
    “My serfs must build a fort for me,
    Each must his service pay”.

    “Each man and maiden must fulfill
    In this great work his share ;
    It is the King of Connaught’s will,
    Let tardy hands beware!”

    Athracta sent unto the King :
    “We be but maidens twain,
    My Liege, we cannot do this thing,
    I beg we may refrain.”

    But sternly sent he back the word,
    “Ye maids must do your part.”
    He was a hard and cruel lord,
    No pity touched his heart.

    So forth they fared into the wood,
    Athracta with her maid,
    To fell the timber as they could,
    Without of men for aid.

    Heavy the axe and full of pain
    Each weak and skill-less stroke,
    Yet strove the maids again, again,
    With walnut, beech, and oak.

    Until upon the wagon cast
    By which the horses stood,
    Their bleeding hands had piled at last
    The goodly logs of wood.

    But when Athracta saw the steeds
    Straining with feeble will
    To draw the heavy load, it needs
    Must make her eyes to fill.

    Athracta spoke all piteously,
    “Alack ! poor broken things,
    Must you, too, bear your painful share
    To save the pride of Kings?”

    “How can I ease your burden, how,
    My faithful servants still?
    My little hands are bleeding now
    With toil beyond their skill.”

    “O mistress dear,” then spoke her maid,
    “These be but feeble nags;
    How would the King’s pride be dismayed
    If you could harness Stags!”

    “Thou sayest well,” Athracta vowed.
    “Come hither, Stags!” she cried,
    And lo! the thud of hoofs grew loud
    Ere yet the echo died.

    “Come hither, Stags!” O’er green and glade
    The silver summons thrilled,
    And soon the space about the maid
    With antlered kings was filled.

    Through moss and fern and tangled trees
    Twelve panting creatures broke,
    And bending low their stately knees
    They knelt beneath the yoke.

    Now harnessed in the horses’ stead
    The great Stags strained their best,
    To please the Lady at their head
    And follow her behest.

    But lo! a vexing thing then happed;
    Scarce had they gained the road,
    The rusty chains of iron snapped
    Beneath the heavy load.

    Yet paused she not in weak despair,
    This noble-hearted maid,
    But loosed her heavy golden hair
    Out from its double braid.

    She loosed her locks so wonder-bright
    And shook them to the breeze;
    It seemed a beam of yellow light
    Had sifted through the trees.

    Then from amid this golden net
    She plucked some silken strands,
    And where the chains had first been set
    She bound them with her hands.

    She tied the ends against the strain,
    And knotted them with care,
    Then bade the Stags pull once again
    Upon the ropes of hair.

    And lo! the slender harness held,
    And lo! the antlered steeds
    Went forth to prove their generous love
    Lent to a maiden’s needs.

    Straight to the King her gift they bore
    To fill his heart with shame;
    And her true maiden went before
    To show him whence they came.

    Now when the King this wonder saw
    He turned all pale and red,
    “She hath a greater power than law,”
    He vowed, and bowed his head.

    “She hath a greater power than I,
    Whose slaves the wild stags be,
    And golden hair like this might snare
    E’en the wild heart of me.

    “No need to her of castles stout,
    No need of moat or tower,
    With antlered guardians about
    Her lonely wild-wood bower.

    ” No need to her of watch or ward,
    With friends like these at hand ;
    Bid her from me henceforth to be
    Queen of her little land.

    “Henceforth she is no serf of mine,
    Nor subject to my throne;
    Where’er her golden hair may shine
    That is her realm alone.”

    So where the seven cross-roads met
    Still dwelt the holy maid,
    Her hut a place of refuge set
    For all who shelter prayed.

    Her realm a holy place of peace,
    Where, with the ancient nags,
    Lived out their days in pleasant ways
    Athracta’s faithful Stags.

    Abbie Farwell Brown, The Book of Saints and Friendly Beasts (Boston and New York), 1900, 69-77.

    Content Copyright © Omnium Sanctorum Hiberniae 2012-2015. All rights reserved.

  • Saint Liadhain of Killyon, August 11

    We have an unusually large number of female saints commemorated on the Irish calendars at August 11. Among them are Saint Attracta and Saint Lelia and now we can meet another holy lady whose feast occurs on this day, Liadhain of Killyon. We have already been introduced to Saint Liadhain on the blog when discussing the feast of Saint Brunsecha. Tradition says that Liadhain was the mother of the man known as the ‘firstborn of the saints of Ireland’, Ciarán of Saighir, and that she was also a monastic foundress in her own right. Canon O’Hanlon tell us what else is known of this mother of saints and of the efforts of the 19th-century scholar John O’Donovan to identify the locality where she flourished:

    St. Liadhain, Abbess, of Killyon, King’s County.

    [Fifth or Sixth Century.]

    This holy woman, according to received traditions, must have flourished during the very infancy of Christianity in Ireland. According to the Martyrology of Donegal, a festival was celebrated, at the 11th of August, to honour Liadhain, daughter of Eochaidh. She descended from the race of Laighaire, the son of Niall. We are told, she was mother to Ciaran of Saigher, and the first Abbess among the virgins—i.e., female—saints of Ireland. There was a religious establishment at a place called Killiadhuin, supposed to have been founded by the present saint, and named after her. It is now identified with Killyon, near Seir-Kieran. Two acres of land are said to have been under the old buildings; but, only a small portion of the walls are now be seen. Already allusion is made to this place, on the banks of the small stream, called the Camcor River. At one time, John O’Donovan thought the parish of Killyon, in the barony of Upper Moyfenrath, in the County of Meath, had been that specially dedicated to St. Lidania. This parish of Killyon is bounded on the north by the parish of Killaconnican; on the east by the parishes of Castlerickard and Clonard; oh the south by the latter parish, and on the west by the County of Westmeath. There were detached portions of this parish within that of Clonard. However, this opinion of Mr. O’Donovan was afterwards retracted, although, as he supposes, and with a great possibility of conjecture, that the parish of Killian, in the County of Meath, had also been dedicated to the present saint. The remains of an ancient church are in a cemetery. There was a holy well in the churchyard, at the gable of the old church. This was said to have been dedicated to the Virgin Mary; but, as the traditions were just extinct in the district, when he visited that locality [in the 1830s], Mr. O’Donovan could place little reliance on them. Under the rule of St. Liadhain or Liadania, lived St. Brunsecha, a holy virgin. Both are supposed to have flourished in the fifth or sixth century.

    Content Copyright © Omnium Sanctorum Hiberniae 2012-2015. All rights reserved.